


close calls

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Edeleth is background, Espionage, Fade to Black, Hubert is the main character, M/M, Mystery, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, check the notes, light alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 13:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21831358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: It's been a year since the end of the war, and Fodlan is in the grip of a tenuous peace. Hubert has his hands full with state events, an increasingly nervous Edelgard, and maintaining a secretive relationship with Ferdinand von Aegir. But things cannot last forever, and when a wicked scheme frames Ferdinand for a terrible crime, Hubert finds his ability to separate his loyalties pushed to their limits.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 36
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, had this idea and just could not get it out of my head. There is the possibility of character death, so please proceed knowing that. Ferdibert is the primary relationship, with background Edelbeth (I wasn't sure if it was better to include it in the tags or not), but Hubert is the main character and the plot isn't strictly romantic (although it hinges heavily on his relationship with Ferdinand). If you have any questions related to a specific thing you are worried about, I encourage you to message me. There is also some Fade-to-Black sexual content. I will also update the tags and warnings as I think of things.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hubert stayed at Edelgard’s side for the entirety of the state dinner. Ferdinand often described him as “looming in the background” as if he was some kind of hawkish, threatening ghoul, but Hubert did more than lurk. He floated around between conversations, listening to little snippets before someone noticed him, sipped his red wine at such a pace that he had the same drink all night, and regularly returned to his own seat to take bites of the Emperor’s food before repeating the cycle. So far that evening, the most excitement he’d had was a bite of game hen that, while not poisoned, was grossly over seasoned.

He didn’t care for them, but he remained alert.

Hubert stood, sighed, and caught Ferdinand motioning to him from his position a few feet away from Edelgard.

The first thing Hubert noticed was Ferdinand’s hair glowing in the candlelight, giving it a soft golden glow. His honeyed eyes had a kind of spark, and the candle on the table shone over his sharp, fine nose. Which remained unbroken, despite them having fought in the same war. Despite himself, Hubert felt his chest warm slightly when Ferdinand made eye contact with him. He made his way to Ferdinand’s shoulder. His seatmate to the left shied away to become very interested in her drink.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand said, voice bright, “you should sit down. Eat with the rest of us.”

Hubert stifled a smile. “I have been eating. I didn’t care for the hen. Too seasoned, like it could be hiding something under the thyme.”

Ferdinand raised an eyebrow. “Hubert, what you are describing is _flavor_.”

“Anything can be a security risk,” Hubert said, folding his hands behind his back. “Even _flavor_.”

“So morbid.” Ferdinand reached for his wine—a soft, pale drink from his home near the coast. “You never relax.”

At that, Hubert inclined his head. “Never, Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand sputtered into his glass, cheeks turning bright red. “Perhaps…not.”

That delighted Hubert. He bent towards Ferdinand, close enough that only he could hear, but he kept his face neutral, as if relaying a message from Edelgard or discussing some other tedious state affair. Ferdinand had no such mask, and instead raised his glass to cover his mouth.

“I know the Emperor will be retiring shortly,” Hubert said. “I do however have something I would like to discuss with you. Might I expect to see you in my quarters after dessert?”

He saw Ferdinand’s white throat fluttering under his dark cravat, his eyes rolling up to Hubert and then back down to the floor. He rasped out a quick and professional sounding “yes”.

“Very well then, I shall see you then, Prime Minister.”

He left Ferdinand trying not to look flustered as he launched back into friendly discussion with his dinner mates.

Dessert was delivered in a flourish of activity. A simple fruit tart held in a flakey crust and coated in a light veneer of liquid sugar. Reflexively, Hubert drifted back towards Edelgard. As she prepared to take a bite, he grabbed a clean fork and plucked out a portion

Edelgard paused, waiting for him to sift the flavors through his palate. He took a bite of potato, and then a sip of water to make sure he could properly taste the contents. Next to him, she sighed in a way that might be seen as dignified to casual observers, but he knew to be as close to indignancy as the Emperor ever came.

“Hubert—” she sounded exasperated.

“A hint of caramel, they overdid it with the egg in the custard,” he listed off his observations.

“_Hubert_—”

“Merely a precaution,” he affirmed. “My assessment is that it’s quite good.”

“Good, then I won’t have to have it drawn and quartered for treason,” she said, as she cut it up into quarters. “What were you saying to Ferdinand?”

He swallowed a particularly stubborn seed that worked into his teeth. “We were merely discussing the dissemination of grain to Hrym.” The effort was real, and being carried out as part of a joint effort between House Hresvelg and House Aegir to repay some of the damage done to the territory. “You need not concern yourself with the particulars.”

She nodded. “Any word from Byleth?”

Hubert shook his head, and couldn’t help but resent the flash of disappointment he saw in Edelgard’s features. It couldn’t be helped, but it still saddened him to see it. “She isn’t expect to check in for a few days hence.”

Not long ago, Byleth had been sent to Faerghus to try and smooth relations there. Some believed her to be a saint, and she came working to rebuild the damage done. It was sad, difficult work, but everyone agreed she was the best person for the task, Hubert included. He still didn’t like the effect it had on Edelgard. She didn’t have many tells, but he couldn’t help but notice her hands nervously working at the ring on her finger when she thought no one would notice.

She replaced her fork on the table. “Hubert, I think I will retire for the night.”

He bowed his head and stepped aside as she rose. Out of politeness, when the Emperor stood, everyone else in the hall rose as well. As always, Hubert scanned the crowd from her side, all eyes were on her, and he watched them in turn.

As he and Edelgard left, they passed Ferdinand, who focused intently on them as they left. As they exited, Hubert dared a glance back. Ferdinand went back to the last of his wine.

Hubert followed Edelgard as they moved through the dark hallways on their way to her quarters. Guards were occasionally scattered through the hallways, but for the last portion of the walk they were always mostly alone. The corridors were half lit by candle light, and Hubert stalked behind her in silence.

“Did you enjoy the feast, your majesty?”

She took in a sharp breath, and her shoulders tightened in annoyance. “I imagine about as well as you did. The constant threat of assassination doesn’t help my appetite much.”

“It’s understandable,” Hubert said. “I know having Byleth here soothes you somewhat.”

“It feels like we can tackle anything together when she’s here,” Edelgard admitted. “I know we are strong apart, but especially during this week…” she trailed off. “It would be nice to have her here, that’s all.”

Hubert nodded. Tonight marked one year since the end of the Crimson Flower war. Edelgard worked to rebuild from the devastation, to create a truly united Fodlan—one held together by food, shelter, and education instead of crests, the church, and the sword—but knives lurked in every shadow.

“It’s always a comfort to have someone you care for at your side,” Hubert offered evenly. “She will return though, I promise.”

They approached the doors to Edelgard’s rooms. “I know I just…things are going so well. I keep waiting for another boot.” Stretching out her shoulders, she stuck her chin upwards. “I’ve spent so much of my life in conflict. Now that I’m not, that I…have found a great love.” Edelgard smiled at that, before her face fell again. “I don’t want to become a regent so paranoid that I see conspiracies everywhere, but I still keep expecting it all to be taken away. Do you know that feeling?”

Hubert shrugged, although a pinprick seemed to needle at the back of his shoulder blade, right over his heart. “You accomplished the impossible, after a long period of strife. I think it’s only natural to stay on your guard.”

She let out a deep breath. “Let us both be able to relax soon. Now that the state dinner is over, I’m sure things will improve.”

Hubert took the long way back to his rooms. Unlike Edelgard’s, they were sparse on guards or servants. He didn’t like having too many people close to the information he dealt in, and that habit had come in handy during his most recent clandestine exercise. He had two offices, and the most sensitive information he kept in the one near his quarters, guarded by wards and wicked magics.

At the far end of the hallway, he saw Ferdinand wishing Caspar good night and waiting a few seconds so no one would see which way he turned. Hubert ran his tongue over his teeth, anticipation and all the nervous energy from the feast beginning to work their way out.

“Now, Hubert, what grim business did you call me here on?” Ferdinand said, voice a little loud. Ferdinand was always a little loud, though, in that high, easy, hair-tossing noble way.

Hubert pressed his key into the lock, and the tumblers turned with the sound of angry grinding gears. When he did so, purple magical circles adorned with intricate runes flashed purple in the night before dimming like a firefly. “If it’s anything like last time, I don’t think it will take long.”

Ferdinand flushed again, just barely visible in the dim light.

Hubert opened his door and let them both in, shutting it and locking it behind the, re-engaging the wards. “You know never to open this door at night—”

Ferdinand rolled his eyes, demeanor instantly calming as he detached his cape and laid it over one of Hubert’s chairs. He looked more vulnerable, less bulky out of his armor. Hubert approached where Ferdinand leaned against his desk, a petulant smile on his face. “Yes, and I’m extremely discomforted to know that your room could kill me at any moment.”

“You exaggerate,” Hubert stepped in front of Ferdinand, and only stopped when their legs brushed against each other. Ferdinand’s smile slipped slightly, and Hubert saw him nervously swallow, his eyes wide and heady in the low light. “The deadliest thing in here is me.”

He reached out to touch a strand of Ferdinand’s hair, working it between his thumb and forefinger.

Ferdinand reached up behind Hubert’s neck and pulled him down into a long kiss, and Hubert betrayed his surprise with a sharp intake of breath. Ferdinand still tasted like the berries and sweet lacquer from dessert, and Hubert caught himself sinking in to Ferdinand’s soft lips, before probing deeper, before letting his hands wander to Ferdinand’s back and pull him closer at the waist. He lit up in Hubert’s hands, and it was the closest Hubert ever came to faith.

He wasn’t sure exactly when things changed between them, when Hubert started seeing Ferdinand as less of an annoyance and more of a compatriot, less of a compatriot and more of a friend, less a friend and more something else…Their relationship didn’t begin in earnest until just a few months before Byleth’s return and the end of the war.

Hubert couldn’t say he regretted that decision. He’d told himself it was something easy, that they merely spent a good deal of time in each other’s company, and they were under a tremendous amount of stress. However, the war ended. Ferdinand still came to him, and he to Ferdinand.

Starting from the corner of Ferdinand’s mouth, Hubert kissed along his jawline, down to his neck where he tore at the cravat and tight collar Ferdinand wore. He made a keening noise, and Hubert made quick work of the contraption before pressing long kisses against the base of Ferdinand’s throat. Ferdinand willingly tilted his head back, letting Hubert linger on the very front of his throat. Hubert was no stranger to such activities, but he’d never had a partner long enough to learn all their tender points, all of the things that could make them light up and beg for more.

He let Ferdinand gather his mouth up again and kissed him back, more softly this time, his hand cradling the side of Hubert’s head and jaw. “Now then,” he said, “shall we relax?”

“Oh,” Hubert mused, absently toying with an ink well on his desk. “I had something else in mind.”

They ended their activities for the night a little later than usual. Hubert collapsed onto his bed in a heap, panting and covered in hot spots under his skin that he knew would bruise from Ferdinand’s kisses alone. Ferdinand followed him after cleaning up by the basin, and collapsed into bed next to Hubert.

“You’re too hot,” Hubert said, weakly, though he knew his sweaty skin would cool, and he’d soon be grateful for the added heat. In truth, he often even missed Ferdinand’s presence when he wasn’t there.

“Hm,” Ferdinand said, his head already pressed between the pillow and Hubert’s neck. “I presume that means that every time we lay together I thaw your heart a little more. Therefore, I shall continue to do it.”

Hubert paused, taken aback somewhat. He affected a wicked smile that Ferdinand couldn’t see, even as he reached to lay a hand on the palm nearest his. “Or it helps to cool your hot head.”

Only the sound of light snoring answered him.

_My beloved_, the words floated across Hubert’s mind as he drifted on the edge of sleep. Unbidden. Unfortunately, untrue. He frowned lightly as he sank into Ferdinand’s chest.

He could not allow them to be.

Hubert awoke early in the morning, and Ferdinand had an arm draped over his waist in a tight, cozy manner. Ferdinand made his bed as warm as it ever was, and with the war over, he found the idea of staying there tempting. Least of all because he didn’t want to wake Ferdinand from his quiet, easy breaths that puffed against the back of Hubert’s neck.

He’d trained himself to never grow too accustomed to comfort, but it was…nice.

But peacetime could encourage laziness and dull his senses. With unification so tenuous, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He slept better with Ferdinand than he had alone in years, but that didn’t change the nature of his work or his position. His job required pessimism.

Carefully, Hubert attempted to extract himself from Ferdinand’s grasp. Next to him, Ferdinand stirred and offered a complaining groan. He reached out pitifully towards the side of the bed. “Hubert...surely you can stay a little longer.”

Ferdinand closed his eyes against the sun shining in from the eastern window, his hair spread out behind him in a wild tangle. After stumbling, his hand found Hubert’s wrist and gave a weak squeeze.

Even though their arrangement began months ago, it took Hubert a while to get used to Ferdinand’s very tactile affection. He still struggled to return it, but Ferdinand didn’t seem to ask him to.

He bent back towards Ferdinand’s head and kissed his brow. “I have business to attend to.” At the dark shadow that fell over Ferdinand’s brows, he clarified, “Not that kind of business.”

Ferdinand dramatically flopped back onto his side of the bed. “If you must. ”

“We’re to be receiving a diplomat from Almyra soon,” said Hubert. “Her majesty will be on edge until we receive the caravan.”

Fodlan and Almyra had the history that large civilizations often had with each other—long periods of war interspersed with occasional periods of trade and exchange. With Fodlan weakened by the recent war, it was possible Almyra planned an assault. Edelgard made history by starting a war, it was now her chance to prove she could prevent one.

“You know you never call her Edelgard anymore?” Ferdinand pressed. “You can call her Edelgard, especially between us. You are one of her dearest friends.”

Hubert straightened his back. “It’s best to stand on graces.”

“Surely you’re not afraid of slipping up.”

Hubert rose to his feet and began preparing to leave, the last of the heat from his bed disappeared behind him. “Go back to sleep if you like, I know your first meeting isn’t until ten.”

As he left, he saw that Ferdinand dozed once more, spread out over Hubert’s large bed with is back to a sunbeam like a large cat.

Hubert poured over a series of household expenses in his offices, a cup of coffee steaming next to him as he signed his name to each proposal. They had already been checked and double checked, but all final financial approvals went through him. Pouring over statements and summaries made Ferdinand’s head ache violently, but Hubert kept his eye well-trained. He had a knack for numbers and detail. Due to that, as well as his reputation and his temperament, people rarely tried to slip anything by him. Those that did regretted it.

It was 10 in the morning and Hubert pondering finishing his half-empty coffee when a young woman wearing a muted cloak and carrying a red handkerchief in her hand entered through the door. Hubert’s eyes widened. That flag meant an urgent message from Lady Edelgard.

His minimal staff kept their eyes down as if they didn’t see her. She paused at the threshold to Hubert’s office, and he rose to his feet in such a hurry that his chair squealed. “Password?”

Out of sight of his staff, she made a certain gesture with her hands, he waved her in, and she shut the door behind her.

“Report?”

“Her Imperial Majesty is safe, but we disrupted a communication a few minutes ago, sir,” she said, voice urgent and businesslike, though he detected a crack in it that he couldn’t place. “Discussing a plot to assassinate the Emperor.”

Hubert already knew what she was going to say. He donned his cloak in a fluid motion, energy springing through his body, and magic already crackling through his arms. “Do we have any living suspects?”

“The man we received the message from died before questioning,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Sir, there is more.”

“I’m already unimpressed with how much time you’re wasting,” he snapped. “Well, out with it.”

“The letter was written in the hand of Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir, and signed with the seal of the Aegir family,” she spat out, voice shaking. “The Emperor ordered his arrest on suspicion of treason.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hubert wanted to go to the dungeon first, but instead, he swerved and began his march towards Edelgard's war room.

The halls of the palace felt alive, a late morning sun gave the windows and verandas the kind of bright, hot glow that Hubert usually associated with his prime work hours. It also felt alive because of the extra guard patrols Caspar ordered after news of the plot broke. Every hundred feet, a pair of guards would splinter apart as Hubert stormed into them, hands pressed tightly behind his back. They offered rushed salutes as they scrambled to get out of his way.

Two guards outside of the large meeting room saluted him and stepped aside. The enormous double doors parted, and he spied Edelgard in her red imperial garb at the near end of the table, her back to the door. Immediately, he saw the tension in her shoulders, her head slumped low over a pile of reports, looking for all the world like she faced a headsman. A man whispered in her ear. Hubert couldn't hear what he said, but Edelgard listened and nodded.

"Leave us," Hubert commanded.

"But, sir--"

"Leave. Us." He bit the words out, and the workers in the room didn't ask again before scurrying out of office doors at either side of the long room.

As soon as the room was clear, he approached Edelgard's side. "Your majesty, are you all right?"

She kept her palms pressed into the table. Now that he could see her face, he saw both the weariness and the rage. "I'm as well as I could be." She slid a letter on the table over to him.

He picked up the paper and examined the torn wax seal on the envelope. It had heft and a light golden-brown shade. Hubert instantly recognized the paper as the kind that Ferdinand liked to use for his personal correspondences. Even as he disturbed it, he detected the faintest trace of spice, as if it spent time sitting on the desk of someone who liked to brew tea there. Hubert's stomach twisted into a knot, and he poured over the script. It was a clean cursive, written in crisp black ink that broke into high loops on any letter with a stem, which caused Hubert to sigh tightly.

The letter also casually discussed the placement of funds, at the order of the Office of the Prime Minister, to an address Hubert didn't recognize but approximated to Isel, a small town just outside of Enbarr.

When Hubert hauntingly placed the letter on the table, Edelgard handed him the second letter. This one had the same paper, the same flowery script, and discussed the writer's intent for the Prime Minister to take control of the military following the impending death of Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg. No date for the attack was given, but the letter treated her demise as a given in such a way that murder was implied.

Hubert placed the second letter on the table, jaw working, throat twisted.

"What is your opinion, Hubert?" Edelgard sounded far away, like there were knives in her chest and if she spoke they'd cut her.

Hubert stopped, took a breath. What did he think? That his recent affection for Ferdinand had blinded him to some activities he would have noticed in anyone else? Hubert searched his mind, wondering if he'd seen anything out of place in Ferdinand's affairs, if he was acting out of the ordinary, or if Hubert caught any suspicious snippets of the conversation from the woman who sat next to Ferdinand at the dinner the night before.

He felt like his ribs were threatening to choke him. The question was simpler than that, however.

Did he doubt Ferdinand? Did he doubt himself?

"It is a very good forgery, but too neat," he said, his voice like a leaking pipe. "Made by someone with knowledge of Ferdinand, the office of the Prime Minister, and with access to the palace.”

“It does seem convenient. A whole master plan laid out and easily located.” Edelgard’s voice stayed tight.

“Ferdinand is a stranger to espionage, but I like to think even he wouldn't put the seal of von Aegir on a document all but signing his death warrant."

Edelgard nodded. "You have uncharacteristically missed the obvious, Hubert."

"Not missed, dismissed," he affirmed. "It's possible he believed the von Aegir seal would keep the letter from being intercepted."

“Why dismiss it?”

“Because my spies read a selection of the mail regardless of the office it comes from, and he knows that.”

Edelgard rose to her full height, hands sliding over the dark wooden table as she stared down the seats where her strike force gathered. Her gaze landed invariably where Ferdinand usually sat. “There’s more. We searched the ledger of the accountant handling Ferdinand’s budget. Under encouragement, he indicated that funds have been directed towards a mailbox in Isel.”

Hubert shook his head. “That is suspicious, but I would have noticed a discrepancy.”

She handed him the ledgers. “That’s because he wasn’t using the imperial coiffeurs. He added coin from his own savings.”

“That makes utterly no sense.” Hubert’s mind turned. The evidence was there, before him, Ferdinand funneling money through his office, once a month. Why? To disguise the origin? It was no crime, but in light of the other evidence, wholly damning. “This is hardly enough to fund a private army or league of assassins.”

"I know Hubert, but it gives credence to the discovery.” She bit her lip, looking tired and pale. “If it was just me, I would gladly bet my life on Ferdinand's loyalty. That this is some ploy to divide us," Edelgard said, her fingers clenching. "But the stability of Fodlan rests on my shoulders only so long as my head does."

Hubert listened, his heart pounding. "With his past animosity for you, as well as the role you played in his father's death, it makes sense to consider it. However, those facts also make him a clear target."

"In what way?" Edelgard said, blankly.

"If someone wanted to weaken the empire during a politically tumultuous time, framing the Prime Minister for treason would be a wonderful scheme. It's also likely someone benefits from Ferdinand's death more than he would benefit from yours, a distant cousin, perhaps."

Edelgard shook her head. “Or maybe he’s grown tired of conquering at my side.”

Hubert watched her. He had not seen her so shaken in some time. The sight frightened and enraged him.

“I will investigate.” As he spoke, his voice hollowed. “But you must be seen to respond to threats quickly, even from within your own house.”

Hubert turned to leave. As he did, Edelgard reached out to clasp his sleeve. "Find me another answer.”

Hubert paced through the dungeon, his speed slowing as he delved deeper into the intestine of the palace. Like many old buildings, it was built on the ruins of ruins. Its halls were labyrinthine, and the lower he went the more it resembled a crypt. Originally constructed during the reign of Edelgard’s great grandfather, the dungeons were originally designed to hold those accused of apostasy, during a time when many, many people were accused of apostasy. After Edelgard’s ascension and the following war, it became necessary to refurbish and maintain them, though the torture devices were removed and many of the cells were used for the storage of emergency supplies, rather than prisoners or political rivals. The dungeons beneath the palace in Enbarr were a last resort.

Often a very short-term one.

Hubert’s knowledge of the layout led him to a large cell near the western corner. A pair of guards stood sentinel outside a large wooden door, recently replaced and sticking around the slumped stone frame. A man on the right unlocked the door with the ugly sound of metal grinding on metal, and Hubert stepped inside. As the door was forced shut behind him, he waved his hand over the panels of it. A hint of death plus a little elemental wind made the sign for silence, which flared to life under his palm as he stepped into the room.

Ferdinand lay on his knees, arms held over his head by wrought iron shackles tied to the wall. His golden red hair fell in a mask over his eyes, and a little spike of horror went through Hubert at how still Ferdinand was, with his back bent against the stone wall behind him. An occasional shiver or quake in his shoulders betrayed him as alive. He’d been stripped of his overcoat and other fineries, likely while being searched for weapons or poisons. All protocol.

Hubert stood and watched, fighting a rising ache in his chest that he had no time to diagnose the root of.

Ferdinand’s head inclined towards him a fraction.

“Are you here to kill me?”

Those words lashed through Hubert, and that galvanized him to approach Ferdinand, who gazed up. His eyes wide and round, unbearably sad. When Hubert bent down to him, Ferdinand flinched, steel rattled on stone. Hubert stopped, his hand in midair. He wondered if Ferdinand could see the quiver in it.

That acceptance stunned him. Since their relationship began in its current form, it remained an unspoken vow between them. If it ever came between Ferdinand and Edelgard, Ferdinand knew who Hubert would choose. That Ferdinand thought Hubert would not even question this latest accusation, however.

Hubert didn’t know how he felt about that.

“If I thought,” Hubert began, “that you had used me, siphoned money to assassins, and plotted to take the empire for yourself over the Emperor’s body, then yes. I’d slit your damn throat.” He allowed an edge of steel into his voice. He hoped he wasn’t wrong to trust in both Ferdinand and his own eyes. “So tell me, Ferdinand, is it true?”

“Of course not. I know Edelgard and I have had our differences, but she is my friend. I love her as such. And you...I could not do what she seems to think I planned.” Ferdinand quaked, the barely contained emotions stumbling over his words. “If you think me guilty, then—”

“I don’t.” Instead of reaching for the dagger under the flap of his jacket, Hubert placed his palm on Ferdinand’s cheek. He knelt, meeting Ferdinand at eye level while Ferdinand trembled, eyes watering as he registered Hubert’s words. “I don’t think Her Majesty does, either. This situation is, however, impeccably bad for you.”

“I know,” Ferdinand said.

“What in the flames is going on with your ledgers?”

Shame darted across Ferdinand’s face. “That part is true.”

“You can explain that to me.”

Ferdinand gulped. “I can’t.”

Hubert refrained from squeezing his hand against Ferdinand’s jaw in frustration. “Ferdinand, I’ve grown rather fond of this head. You will lose it unless you tell me everything I need to know. Now.”

Ferdinand squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed into Hubert’s hand. Hubert, unaccustomed to this kind of gentle, easy tactile contact, struggled to let him.

“During the war, Ines rested between Enbarr and Gareg Mach.”

Hubert nodded. “I remember. We often moved troops through there.”

“A man in my battalion,” Ferdinand started, “became very improper with a woman there. I was unaware of his infatuation until it escalated. He had been drinking during a layover on the way to the front, and murdered her fiancé in cold blood. I had no choice but to leave him to the justice of the townsfolk.” He lowered his head again. “I attended his hanging, you know.” Ferdinand looked like he was going to be sick. “I was there for every moment. But the girl, she was heartbroken. And had no family to care for her, so I send her money through my office regularly. But I never stole from my budget or other projects. Every coin I sent her was my own. I never mentioned it because Edelgard has said we can barely make up for the terrible things we did ourselves, that we would go mad trying to make up for things out of our control. But I could not stop thinking about that woman’s face.”

“Improper,” Hubert said, leaving it unspoken that it was also the worst possible context for it to come to light in, “but not illegal.”

“But Hubert,” Ferdinand said, “I never plotted against Edelgard.”

His voice rang with conviction, and utter hopelessness. The energy and the optimism that drew Hubert to him faded into the irons and the cobbles, and it was a sad thing to watch. Hubert had seen Ferdinand scared before—not hopeless. He simply sat in shock, like a fly in a web.

Hubert bend his forehead towards Ferdinand’s; he’d only been in the dungeon for a couple hours, but the scent of his morning tea hadn’t left him yet. He pressed their foreheads together, and then Ferdinand arched his chin upwards for a quick kiss. Hubert obliged, and pulled away when Ferdinand’s lip shook.

“I have to go.” Someone needed to untangle this.

Ferdinand sank back into the wall. “I will try to…I do not know what I can try to do.”

Hubert’s hand wandered upwards to the shackles on Ferdinand’s wrists. Already, he saw where the metal turned skin pink. “I’ll talk to the warden about these.”

Hubert lingered there, still holding Ferdinand as Ferdinand sank into him one more time. He tore himself away. He approached the seal on the door and released it by running his palm over the runes on the wood. They sparked and smoked as he dissipated the ward and stepped out.

He’d arrived worried about Ferdinand. He left determined to find answers.

What good was the Emperor’s prized hound if he couldn’t scent down the truth.

Especially with both the lives of both the Emperor and the Prime Minister at stake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter ended up a little shorter than the last one. If this keeps happening, I may end up adding more chapters. We shall see. Thank you to everyone who has read and commented so far on this little thing.
> 
> EDIT: Also I commissioned art from @rasstegai on Twitter and they [DID AN AMAZING JOB OMG](https://twitter.com/rasstegai/status/1208874022680875010?s=20). Please check it out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Back again. I hope everyone is having a good end of your year. This chapter is a little longer than the last one, although it may be a little info-heavy.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented so far! I am touched that there are folks out there enjoying this. Thanks also for bearing with me while I get back into writing.
> 
> Chapter specific content warnings:  
\- A body is examined in the beginning.  
\- Hubert has some intrusive thoughts about Ferdinand's situation.

The would-be assassin’s body laid on a low, flat table near the court mages’ workshop. No one had bothered to close his eyes before rigor mortis set in, and it made for a grotesque visage as he gazed upwards at the ceiling. Even more grotesque was the inky black stain just under his waxy skin, beginning at his mouth and stretching out in tendrils down his throat, up towards his eyes. Like someone had spilt oil in his blood. The only other notable injury was the broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Linhardt shivered next to Hubert, his hands wrapped tightly around a green coat. Emerald hair in a messy bun peaked out from under the fur lining at his throat. Hubert heard a sound like someone’s stomach turning on them, and Linhardt forced his face into a placid mask as he gave a forceful swallow.

Hubert sipped his coffee.

“This man was found last night on his way to Her Majesty’s private rooms. It is unclear how he gained entry to the palace—” another fact, Hubert noted, that worked very badly against Ferdinand “—but we do know he killed a guard just outside the principal garden. To call him an assassin is almost laughable, as one man with a knife had almost infinitesimal chances of success.” Hubert turned to Linhardt and shrugged. “I never say never, of course. Who knows what direction the wheel of history will choose to turn, but it was unlikely to the point that I assume he was either ill or coerced.”

Linhardt nodded, pointedly looking anywhere except at the body. “Perhaps the knife wasn’t his weapon at all, but the poison he took when he was captured.”

Hubert took another sip of coffee. “I wouldn’t rule it out. Anyone striking at her would know no ordinary weapon would kill her. But it is a combination of potent toxin and potent magic. Administering it would have tainted any food or surface—it’s hardly colorless or odorless. The miasma alone would have alerted her.”

“There’s that at least.” Shivering, Linhardt looked around. “This room is damnably cold, Hubert.”

“At my order. It gives the physicians and healers in my employ more time to examine cases like this before rot sets in, and the work gets foul.”

Linhardt huffed. “At this point, I would consider decomposition an improvement.” He revealed his hands briefly, including a golden bangle inlaid with a polished agate that dangled from one wrist—a gift, surely—and breathed out onto them to warm them up. “One more question: why am I here?”

“You read the alchemist’s report on your way down here, correct? Tell me what you saw.” Hubert kept his voice even.

“The alchemist located two substances of note. The poison that killed him—as yet unnamed, but a combination of bitter almond extract and dark magic. There was another, identified as Nightvine Honey, existing at a low but potentially lethal level in his blood.” Linhardt brushed a loose strand of hair aside. “It kills, but slowly, and the antidote exists, even if it is hard to come by. Healers identified damage to lungs, heart, kidney, liver, _etcetera_,_ etcetera_. All of the major organs. The nature of the damage indicated that he has been living with this dosage for some time.” He yawned. “A mystery, for sure.”

Hubert nodded. “The Nightvine Honey is a technique that was utilized by Leicester Alliance cells during the war. Because it takes so long to kill, assets dosed with it often become very helpful in hope of receiving the antidote. Sometimes agents would take it before dangerous missions as a precaution against capture and torture.” He paused. “We have a supply of the cure on hand.”

“Ah, morbid,” Linhardt said. “I’m sure that all already occurred to you.”

“It did,” Hubert said. “What else do you see?”

“After a cursory examination,” Linhardt began, “it’s impossible to know for sure which category he falls into—an asset turned against the crown, or a willing agent that took the honey himself. His entry to the palace would be explained if he were, say, a servant that received a dose while on leave.” He broke off, his mouth stretching wide and his eyes lidding shut as his stomach made another noise. “However, were that the case, he had to have known he wouldn’t survive an attempt on Edelgard’s life, which implies zealotry rather than desperation.”

“Good,” Hubert said. “Unenlightening, but I needed another pair of eyes.”

Linhardt squared his shoulders away, as if he were looking for a place to lay down. “Is that because Ferdinand is thought to be involved?”

Hubert scowled, and finished his coffee. “I see no point in hiding it from you. Yes, he was found holding a handful of letters that seem to implicate Ferdinand in high treason.”

“Right,” Linhardt drawled out. “Because when I commit a capital crime, I want to send my letters to a Riegan loyalist with a sweet tooth who won’t even burn them after reading. Surely you know this is a ruse. Surely Edelgard knows this is a ruse.”

“What Her Majesty,” Hubert said, pointedly drawing out the Emperor’s title, “believes is irrelevant. The plot was revealed during a meeting. More than one high-level bureaucrat heard Ferdinand’s name in connection with the attempt on the Emperor’s life, or saw the letters. Not to mention the guards that intercepted the assassin. As word spreads, he risks being tried in the public eye as much as he does by Her Majesty’s royal judges.”

“But surely Edelgard won’t put Ferinand’s head on a pike…” as Linhardt spoke, he trailed off. He knew as well as any of them what Edelgard was capable of when cornered.

Hubert took a deep breath. “She will do whatever she must to ensure the safety of her throne.”

“What about you?”

“I will do whatever is asked of me, as always,” Hubert said, and tried to keep his voice even, even as he felt something twist and tear in his stomach. Unbidden, he thought of Ferdinand smiling at him smarmily in his room. He thought of tea by the gardens. Stolen kisses between meetings, and the easy companionship they’d found late at night or before the day began.

Then he thought of Ferdinand’s face as gray and his eyes closed, the hilt of a lance where his body should be as his hair still cascaded down towards the western wall. Hubert took the thought and dashed it against the rocks of his mind, but not before his chest started burning.

Linhardt regarded him for a while longer, and Hubert pretended not to notice. Linhardt left space in the room between them like he might want to say something else, before he seemed to remember that he did not actually care, and his face slipped back into a bored mask. Hubert hoped the relief wasn’t evident on his own face.

“Huh.” Lindhardt pulled his coat back up over his neck. “And I thought I was cold.”

Hubert’s nose twitched, and he decided to let the slight go. “I may call on you again later.”

“I take it that means I’m free to go, then?” Linhardt swayed towards the door.

Turning back to the body on the table, Hubert fastened his hands tightly behind his back. This was a mess. He’d done the work of an assassin before, and the part of him that wasn’t offended at the sloppy work was offended that it seemed to be working. Right then, he longed for a question he could answer by creating a corpse. Right then, it seemed this death just made more questions.

He bent his head.

“Oh, Hubert?” Linhardt said from the door. Hubert glanced behind him to see Linhardt facing away, one hand placed gracefully on the frame of the door, as if he leaned on it to keep his balance. “For what it’s worth, I hope you’re able to free Ferdinand soon. I do not enjoy the idea of his blood being spilled here.”

Hubert watched him leave, and shuddered as soon as the door was shut.

The section of the garden where the assassin had been intercepted was tucked in a corner. Far, far too close to the Emperor’s rooms, in Hubert’s opinion. He made a note to himself to increase security and remove some of the hedges so the archers could have a better line of sight.

The assailant died surrounded by a sturdy, green shrubbery and a pulpy plant with pink flowers from Brigid, which was struggling in the climate. It would struggle a bit more, because the assassin fell right on it. Hubert could see where blood had pooled on the broken stems, and made a note of where the archer’s arrow had hit him.

Hubert hummed to himself, and bent down near the torso-shaped imprint. Carefully, he dipped his hand into the plant, and felt around in the soil. He’d gone through the assassin’s things, and hadn’t seen anything that looked like a container for such a dangerous poison. His people were thorough, but the palace guards had made a mess of the scene before they ever arrived, and Hubert didn’t see the harm in checking himself.

His hand felt around in the soil for a bit before deciding a vial hadn’t simply been dropped. He glanced around. Thrown, perhaps?

He glanced around the garden.

A wilting rose caught his attention.

Frowning, Hubert stalked over to a rose bush about ten feet away, and reached out to a blossom that was now pink and brown, with petals beginning to sour, crack, and fall to the ground below. Kneeling, Hubert followed the sick stem to the base of the plant.

There, resting by one of the roots, a ring of inky black stretched out, spreading from a simple, heavy glass vial. Hubert grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pick up the vial. A purple-black shimmer still coated the inside.

He scowled at the dying rose. Even trace amounts had done _that_?

Upon a quick examination, he placed the vial as—rough, sloppily made, but sturdy—Faerghus made. It was exactly the sort of glassware that their soldiers used to carry volunary potions in during the war.

Hubert glanced around, as if he might find the answers nestled in with the azaleas.

Leicester Alliance poisons, and military surplus from Faerghus. Curious.

Were they dealing with remnants of either former nation? A whole new seditionist threat merely taking advantage of the remains from a recent armed conflict?

Someone knocked on Hubert’s office door, and he raised an eyebrow, his quill stilling in his hand. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have said it was Ferdinand, and he fought the twist of pain behind his temples as someone knocked again.

“I asked not to be disturbed,” he called out, permitting a hint of that edge to his voice which dissuaded most people.

The voice that answered was high and musical. “Aw, Hubie, I’m sure you can make time for me.”

Hubert let out a long sigh as he closed the book sitting to his left—five years’ worth of Ferdinand’s battalion personnel lists. “Come in, Dorothea.”

Dorothea blew through the door with a wide, welcoming smile on her face. She held her hands carefully in front of an elegant dress.

“Ah, lovely as always,” he said, and he went back to his letter. “Now, please leave.”

Her smile didn’t dip as she sat down at the chair in front of Hubert’s desk, tossing her long, dark hair to one side of her swanlike neck with a flick of her wrist as she did so. Carefully practiced, poised, her every movement a perfect distraction. All of it helped to avoid the subject at hand, to put Hubert off guard while she carefully evaluated him, sitting across from him in the late afternoon like Ferdinand so often did.

She would have made an amazing spy.

“Aw, Hubie. Thank you for the compliment, but I came by to see if you maybe wanted to get lunch.”

Hubert forcefully dunked his pen into the inkwell on his desk as he went back to the letter under his palm. “I do not.”

“I just…thought you might need a break, since you seem to be looking over personnel records with one hand and writing letters with the other one.” She shrugged. “Okay, follow up question: _have_ you had anything other than coffee today?”

Hubert did his best not to glance at the cup sitting suspiciously close to his inkwell. “I’m not under oath, and I don’t think I need to answer that.”

She laughed, high and ringing, like a bell. “Hubie, please give me a break here…” She shifted uncomfortably, her smile slipping. “I stopped by to see Ferdinand earlier.”

Hubert pressed two fingers into his temple as his lips tightened, and he saw Dorothea’s mask fall as she took two shaking breaths. She continued. “Not going to lie, it was hard. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so…well, you know. Un-Ferdinand-like. I can’t believe she would lock him up like that.”

“Her Majesty didn’t. Her guards were responding to a threat. It’s protocol,” he explained, sounding mechanical even to himself. “I’m working to get this all cleared up. It will hardly reflect well on the Emperor if public perception determines that she is paranoid and turning on her friends.”

“Right, on the Emperor,” Dorothea responded, chewing over each word. “But how is _Edie_ doing? I haven’t been able to see her.”

“The situation doesn’t sit well with her, for obvious reasons,” he said. “I won’t presume to comment on her mood or opinions beyond that.”

“Ferdinand said you probably hadn’t eaten,” said Dorothea.

“So you’ve been sent on a mission?” he asked, fighting a wave of…something. That he’d consider later. The idea that Ferdinand was concerned with whether Hubert had eaten, while he himself was in chains in the palace dungeon, seemed like an absurdity.

“Is that so ridiculous?”

“I feel like the only one who understands the danger he’s in,” Hubert said. “I’m trying to save his life.”

“And he’s grateful,” Dorothea replied, reaching out across Hubert’s desk to his hand. Reflexively, Hubert flinched when she did so, but allowed the gesture. “He also knows that you’ll be more effective if you let your mind rest. An hour isn’t going to make a difference.”

“From the cell to the axe, an execution only takes an hour,” he said. “It will take six for my nearest operative to reach the town of Isel, where it seems this mess started. I believe there are loose ends of the plot here in Enbarr, otherwise I’d be going there myself.” _Someone_ had provided the would-be assassin with his poisons. Either a person or network with some degree of support was certainly involved.

“Flames, Ferdie’s right. You’re _relentlessly_ pessimistic.”

“Better a pessimist than a fool.” Hubert’s quill scratched quickly over his own stationary as he finished the final sentence and punctuation. A stack of four identical coded messages sat to his right, and he picked up the stack to bundle them together. “Thank you for your concern, but I must focus on my task at hand.”

“I thought you might say that.” Dorothea sighed, and rose to her feet. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” After a beat, she paused and said. “And I’ll see you later.”

Hubert stared at her, and the expression on his face must have betrayed that he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

Dorothea flicked her eyes outwards, vaguely in the direction of the reception hall. “The diplomat from Almyra is arriving?”

Hubert did his best to hide the sharp intake of air that he took.

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you _forget_?”

“No. Of course I remembered the arrival of the Almyran ambassador,” he said, and if Dorothea was bothered by the snap in his voice, she didn’t show it. He hadn’t forgotten, per se, but he certainly didn’t have time to remember it right then. “I’m the Minister of Imperial Affairs—” he spat out his title, forcefully rearranging the papers on his desk “—forgetting would make me look blisteringly incompetent.”

He looked up, expecting to see Dorothea offended, but she wore the same pleasant expression she always did. Now it was tinged with concern, though, which was almost worse. “I didn’t think you would. I’ll see you there. Maybe I’ll be able to grab a moment with Edie afterwards.”

As she stood up to go, Hubert called out, “I am sure Ferdinand enjoyed your visit. As I will be occupied…I’m sure he would appreciate it if you could visit again.”

Dorothea stood by the door, regarding him as his words sank in. A little of her smile returned. “Whatever you say, Hubie.” She offered a little wave. “Good luck with the hunt. Don’t kill yourself from exhaustion. I hope you like the peach.”

And with that, she was out the door.

Hubert raised an eyebrow. At one end of his desk rested a simple peach currant.

With ink-stained hands, he reached out to it and took a bite.

The envoy from Almyra was expected to arrive around sunset, and Hubert barely managed to send his missives, choke down the peach currant, and lurch to Edelgard’s side in time to look as though he’d always been there. If any of her guards had thoughts about Edelgard’s famously punctual retainer running so late, they said nothing and, coincidentally, kept their names off any unsavory lists. Caspar, Linhardt, and Dorothea were already at Edelgard’s side. When he arrived, Dorothea and Edelgard were having a hushed conversation. Although he tried, he couldn’t discern what Dorothea was saying. When she stepped away, she gave him a smile and a wave. Next to them, Linhardt attempted to stifle a violent-seeming yawn.

He settled at her side just as the first watchmen sighted wings in the distance. Flying from the northeast, they were almost invisible with the bright sun setting in the west, casting the rest of the sky in shadow. Hubert noted their arrival speed, noted the time of day and the minimum distance at which he could see them clearly. He imagined what an attack would look like—hundreds of wyverns descending from the sky over Enbarr. They were not known to be particularly high-altitude fliers, but on a day with heavy cloud cover…

“Hubert,” Edelgard said, dropping her voice. “What have you found?”

“Not enough,” Hubert replied, voice quiet and dark. “Traces.”

Her face fell a fraction. “I expect regular reports.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said.

Edelgard bit her lip. “Hubert, I—”

Whatever she meant to say was drowned out by the sound of heavy wingbeats arriving over the courtyard. Six wyverns, several bearing two or three passengers, cut low over the towers of the Imperial palace. They were like dark shadows, their bodies the color of dead leaves and compost.

As each beast landed with solid thumps against the cobbles, Hubert heard a pegasus wail from the stable. Gusts of wind from their wings tossed Hubert’s cloak, and Edelgard raised a hand to protect her eyes from the smattering of dust and sand that followed.

When the dust cleared, Hubert scanned the assembled envoys. Accompanying the obvious scribes were four or so swordsmen, armed with simple iron blades, as had been agreed upon. They huddled together at first, lingering near their wyverns as the Adrestian guards moved to meet them.

From the wyvern in the back, Hubert caught a flash of yellow and gold as a final person unsaddled. He recognized dark brown hair and light brown skin, and a grin—outwardly friendly, but hiding a bitter bite of arsenic—that had taunted Hubert with his inability to read its owner. A lovely, curved bow sat unstrung in a quiver on his back.

Hubert fought hot rage that began boiling in his stomach. Diplomat from Almyra, indeed.

Claude von Riegan stopped before Edelgard’s entourage, waving his hand in a gesture halfway between a friendly greeting and a surrender, as if he expected her to greet him by raising her blade to his deceptive, conniving— “Hey, Edelgard. It’s been a while.”


End file.
